


Woods

by Peile



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25330162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peile/pseuds/Peile
Summary: Some nations have abilities that can harm them. Or save.
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native English speaker and it's my first attempt at translating, so feel free to correct me.

America blinks, seemingly taken aback. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, takes off his glasses and rubs his nose bridge, as if trying to buy himself time to think.

“You know, that’s not exactly what I expected to hear when I offered you help,” he says dryly at last.

England pushes a book of poetry by Robert Frost in his chest and quickly lets it go, so America barely manages to catch it.

“I suppose, all you can do now is to deal with it, since it’s the only kind of help that I’m willing to accept,” England answers. America better keep in mind where his own pride and stubborness came from.

America’s glasses are made from kevlar alloy, but at the moment, England can bet, the frame bends a little in his fist. Nevertheless, America gets himself together with a visible effort – much bigger than that he usually needs to break the most solid metals in the world – and responds with a crocked grin. It lacks cheer.

“You don’t know for sure if I’m able to reach you.”

England shrugs.

“I can take the risk.”

“What? You can’t possibly…” America pauses, obviously counts to five and then tries again. If not the circumstances, England would be even impressed. “Do your people agree to take it, too?”

“Of course they do.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“Thank God, we still have monarchy here, not democracy.”

“You will have neither if you get lost in this goddamn book!”

“Well, maybe they deserve some better Nation,” England blurts out without thinking.

There is a stunned silence after his words – same one that can be after the slap in the face, or before the shot with the revolver, – and England feels his hands helplessly trembling. He’s left with nothing to occupy them with; now America holds the book that was England’s weapon and shield.

“Since when have you decided to commit suicide?” America asks very quietly, and England suddenly feels uneasy.

“I didn’t mean to commit…”

“Oh, not suicide. Sorry, I’m speaking like a human, it’s unfair,” America carefully puts the book on the table and gets his glasses on. England forces himself not to think what will happen if America just refuses and leaves. “Self-murder is what humans do. And you… You only decided to be buried inside the book and become the history.”

“I don’t have such intention, I assure you.”

“Maybe you don’t, but you allow this possibility or even secretly hope for it. Can take the risk, you say? What exactly are you going to risk, coming back or leaving forever?

For a moment, they remain silent. The book lies between them, like a loaded revolver for a Russian roulette.

“Miles to go before I sleep,” America blankly quotes. “You’re not king Arthur, and I can’t wake you up in Britain’s hour of greatest need. You will be beyond my reach. Either I wouldn’t be able to call you loud enough, or you wouldn’t want to listen to me.”

England has an answer at least to this one.

“I always want to listen to you,” he says very gently.

“Except when I tell you to get away from me and never to return again,” America smiles, weakly, but this time – for real.

“Except that,” England agrees, smiling back, “but you don’t want it anymore, do you?”

“I don’t.”

“I have promises to keep,” Englan takes a step forward. “Promise to come back,” one more little step. “The keeper of the forest…”

“I think I remember him,” America says, with his head to one side. “Or have I merely saw him in my dream when I was a kid?”

“Back then, you often dreamt of my culture – so that you make it part of your own”, England nods.

“We share our culture,” America says, after another pause. “We share our blood. Chances are high, probably.”

England slides his fingers down America’s shoulder, ever so slightly, and America catches his hand. They stand like this and listen to bird’s singing in England’s blooming garden. There will be winter in the place where England is going, and he won’t see the Lady of the Lake under the thick ice.

America holds him as if still hoping not to let him go.

“I always knew that some day you will be gone for your fairy tales forever,” he says bitterly. “I only hoped that I still have a millenium or two.”

“You have a millenium. Or two. I promise,” Englang links their fingers together.

America clears his throat.

“Well, a long goodbye only means extra tears,” he says way too enthusiastically.

“So… see you?”

“Yeah,” America answers shortly; England lets his hand go and falls into the vivid book surface, like in water. Without a single splash.

A dapple grey horse snorts and thumps on the frozen ground with his hoof, Englang tightenes the girth and jumps into the saddle. Outside the book comes a sigh, it disturbes the black birds on the snowy trees, but England doesn’t pay attention. What matters is that America nevertheless closes the book.

England still has miles to go, but somehow he feels calm. He wonders whether it’s so warm in the winter forest because the book is kept near someone’s heart now.


End file.
